Higher in Demand
by Phelpsies
Summary: Bruce Wayne's Wayne Entertainment employee, Olivia Sharpe, is discovering Bruce Wayne... the hard way.
1. Higher in Command

I surveyed Bruce Wayne as he walked in through the double doors to Wayne Entertainment. I was quietly reading a script that was sent in to me to proofread, but I had not gotten far. There he was, in all his glory; the man who owned the whole of Wayne Enterprises, and therefore half of Gotham.

Bruce did check in with us when he felt business was slow or our writing was poor. I never had the pleasure of meeting him, even though Mister Fox had told me so much about him. And I proofread half the things in Wayne Entertainment, so I knew most of the juice on him. There was always something more to Bruce… something even I did not know.

"Miss Sharpe?" he asked as I pretended to be going over the script that never seemed to end. I was startled to hear him ask for me. I stood slowly and nodded nervously. Why would he need to see me? "You're editor here, right?"

"Mostly," I said quietly. My picture was on the last page of the newspaper every day stating so. He knew it. _Everyone_ knew it.

"What's this?" he snapped, making me even more nervous. I held out a shaky hand to find last week's newspaper slammed into it. On the front page was a rather stunning picture of Mayor Garcia and Commissioner Gordon. The article was explaining what happened that dreadful few days that ruined so many lives. It was a lot like a one thousand-word essay. It even included Batman and his role. But it was everyone else's view on the matter: that he killed Harvey Dent; that Batman did everything the Joker did not do. I thought Batman did it, as did everyone else. I never saw a complication in this.

"It's last week's front page, sir," I said sheepishly, reading it over again for any mistakes that would cause this scene.

Bruce let out an agitated sigh. "I know that much. The Batman bit, Ms. Sharpe… read it to me," he demanded, making the situation a lot more dramatic. I had never imagined meeting Bruce Wayne under these circumstances.

I scanned the page before I quoted the contents, "'Batman, once Gotham's caped crusader, may now be the downfall of Gotham for the murder of district attorney Harvey Dent." I was about to continue when Bruce put up a hand to stop me.

"That's fine, Miss Sharpe. But why would you put that in here?" he asked, now looking me in the eyes for the first time. I seemed to inwardly cower before looking away.

"It was confirmed by Jim Gordon, Mister Wayne. And I find it necessary to alert the citizens of Gotham what happened and to stay clear of Batman," I said, examining a vase in the corner of the office. I never noticed it before.

"I see the logic here… But what about the Joker? He was mentioned three times in the whole article, while Batman got a whole paragraph," Bruce said.

"Sorry, sir, I didn't know it would cause that much trouble… But the Joker's in Arkham, isn't he? That's what Gordon said. Batman's not, I figured he was a high priority because of that. He might not need Arkham, but jail or prison would work."

"So you're encouraging citizens to get Batman instead of trained police?"

"That's not what I said, Mister Wayne," I said without thinking. "But why are you asking me all of this? I didn't write the piece."

"Maybe so, Miss Sharpe, but you were the last person out of six to see it before it hit the presses," replied Bruce curtly. He _was _a challenge. Before the conversation could become any more tense, Bruce switched the topic. "Did you know Rachel Dawes?" His tone was light, yet full of what I could not place. Longing, desire?

"Yes, I did. I actually met her at one of your fundraisers. Even funnier is the fact that I've never met you, but you know my address to invite me to all of these events," I said, returning my gaze to his face. He chuckled.

"I have a list for Lucius Fox of all my employees. I invite the ones that are… higher in demand," he said.

"Higher in demand, Mister Wayne, or higher in command?" I asked, a smirk crossing my face. This made Bruce laugh some more.

"A little of each, I would think." Bruce pushed back his sleeve and checked his watch. He flinched and shook his head. "Well, I've got to go… I've got a meeting. By the way, call me Bruce."

"Olivia," I said before sitting back down at my desk. Bruce left the building in a hurry, adjusting his suit and checking the time once more. The newspaper he handed me was set on top of several more papers that cluttered my desk.

The script on the computer screen seemed to taunt me, telling me I still had sixty-one pages to go… and I had already gone through thirty-two. It was an opera, not a novel. I turned off the computer and sighed. The opera could wait; Bruce Wayne owned at least three opera houses in Gotham, which always had a show. This one was not going to make a difference.

What had just happened left me confused. Bruce Wayne was critiquing – no, criticizing – my editing. And then he completely switched the topic from the article to Rachel Dawes. I guess the articles did not lie when they said he was a mysterious billionaire. But they mostly said that because he came back from the dead.

I came home with my first encounter of Bruce Wayne still fresh in my mind. It would be a lie if I said I was surprised to find an invitation to Bruce Wayne's next fundraiser taped on my front door. I tore it open when I got inside and noticed a small handwritten note at the bottom of the envelope.

"_Olivia,_

_You have an interesting point of view on the events in Gotham. I'd like to talk about them with you when you have free time._

_B."_

On the other side of the note was a phone number that I'm assuming was Bruce's. I stuffed the note into my jacket pocket, mentally noting to call him tomorrow morning. I would have a day off tomorrow for the first time in a week.


	2. Front Page News

In the morning I woke at about nine. That was my idea of sleeping in, though most people who worked as much as I did slept in until noon. All night I was thinking nervously about my call to Bruce and our meeting. I was going to mess it up somehow; he was my employer after all. Almost all meetings with your boss go wrong.

I reluctantly picked up the phone and the piece of paper I had set next to the set. I shakily dialed the numbers, having to restart over and over again because I missed the numbers. When I finally pressed the phone to my ear, the phone rang only twice before it was picked up. "Wayne residence, Alfred Pennyworth speaking."

Good, it wasn't Bruce. "Is Bruce there?" I asked slowly.

"May I ask who's speaking?"

"Olivia Sharpe from Wayne Entertainment," I said a little more confidently. There was a shuffle on the other line and shouting. There was more shuffling.

"Hello?" Bruce said, gasping for air. Could his place really be that big?

"Hey, this is Olivia. I was calling to say that I'm free all today and tomorrow, but today is probably better," I said as I sat down on my uncomfortable couch. I adjusted while Bruce was silent for a few seconds.

"How about eleven at Finnigan's?" Bruce asked after a moment of thinking.

"That sounds good… but I'll have you know I'm a raging alcoholic," I said sarcastically, hoping to make him laugh like yesterday. I could hear a soft laugh.

"I'll get you a virgin piña colada then. "

"I'll just sneak away with your drink when you go to the bathroom or look the other way," I said, joining in with his laughter. "The only problem with this is the fact that you can fire me when you find out I stole your drink and wasted your date time."

"So you've heard about that too?" he asked, still laughing.

"Who hasn't heard? You're Gotham's Playboy. And, if I'm not mistaken, you've been in the news for that more times than I can count on my fingers. I'm not one to believe the tabloids, Mister Wayne, but you've certainly got the looks to be a Playboy," I said. If you get the chance to suck up to the boss, why not take it? However wrong it might be to take advantage of him, I was sure he had done it to several girls.

"Well, thank you… I think," Bruce said, no longer laughing.

"You're welcome, I think."

After another moment of silence, Alfred broke it. "Master Wayne, does that mean you won't be joining me for lunch?" he asked.

"That tells me how much you've been listening to, Alfred. And, no, I'm eating out with Miss Sharpe this afternoon. You're welcome to raid the refrigerator though. God knows I hardly make a dent in there," Bruce said. There was a faint click from Alfred's line and sighing on Bruce's.

"Does he do that often?" I asked curiously.

"Only if he thinks I'm going to get myself into trouble with another girl," he said.

"So I take that as a 'yes.' But I'm honestly no trouble, I swear. Other than being an alcoholic, I'm a complete angel… honest," I said. "Girl Scouts honor, I won't make your life any worse."

"You're a Girl Scout?"

"Actually, no, I never was and I think I'm too old to be doing that stuff now. It would be pretty weird if I went to someone's doorstep and asked if they wanted to buy my cookies," I said, still trying to get him to laugh. I was a downright schmoozer; smite me if you feel it is wrong. And the sound I wanted to hear reached me on my side of the phone.

"Well then, I hope you're going to be as… ah, _charming _as you are now. I'll see you at eleven… Olivia," Bruce said. I muttered my good-byes before hanging up. _I _had a date with Bruce Wayne in an hour and forty-five minutes. Who would have thought poor Olivia Sharpe would get this chance and actually seize it? If I were to tell my coworkers, my sister, or even my parents they would never have believed me. But, like every other date slash girlfriend slash eye-candy Bruce Wayne ever had, I would be splashed on the front of magazines and a story for GCN.

At the thought of being front-page news, I rushed to the bathroom. I needed to primp. Looks never come easy, and I would have to work even on my day off. And after an hour long's work, I still was not pleased. Oh, _woe is me_. How much life would be easier if I were a blonde. And with that thought in mind, I wondered if any salons could dye a full head of hair in less than forty minutes. It would be the devil's work to try and mess with my hair.

I was brought back to reality by the buzzing of my cell phone. Speaking of the devil, it was my sister. "Hello?" I said as I sat on my toilet seat.

"Where are you? I've gotten three calls today as to why that script wasn't returned to the writer," my sister screamed into my ear. We both worked at Wayne Entertainment, unfortunately. But I was "higher in command."

"I have two days off. And before you go yapping about Mister Fox and getting me fired, I was approved two weeks ago. And I'm sure Bruce Wayne wouldn't be happy to see me fired while I spent my free time with him," I said, my words poison. There was a long pause.

"What?"

"I'm meeting Bruce Wayne today to talk about Gotham's goings-on. And I'll leave my phone at home so I don't have to listen to my ringtone every five minutes because of you. Nobody likes a brooding younger sister, you know."

"I guess I can't argue with that."

"Oh, by the way, just get on my computer and send the damn file back to him. Is everyone in the office completely useless? It's not like I have a password or anything," I snapped before hanging up. Do not get me wrong here; I am still the sweet, shy girl that called Bruce Wayne. But I, like every other non-single child in the world, had a sibling rivalry going on. I did have a catty side, only to be released on my lifelong opponent.

I headed out to my beat-up car, ready to meet Bruce Wayne for the second time in my life.


	3. Gossip Circle

When I arrived at Finnigan's, I quietly walked inside and stood near the door to wait for Bruce. I was fifteen minutes early. After about five minutes I moved to a booth when Bruce Wayne walked in. Tabloids were nowhere in sight, making the work on my hair worth absolutely nothing. I waved him over to our booth just as the waiter was coming over.

"Two virgin piña coladas," Bruce said as he sat down across from me. I smiled, feeling a little more important because he remembered our conversation. The drinks were rushed back to us within a minute, which could have been a record if the waiter had not tripped and spilled the drinks cleanly on Bruce. I snorted, trying to contain my laughter; he laughed too and started wiping away with napkins. I gave him the napkins, still trying not to laugh. The waiter got us free refills, since we never really got our first fill.

"So," Bruce began, "what do you know?"

"I know several things, but not enough. What do you want to know? What could I possibly know that you don't?" I asked, popping an eyebrow. "I'm sure you have 'sources,' don't you?"

"Yes, I do," Bruce said, grinning. "What do you know about anything?"

"Well, I know Joker's in Arkham."

"See, he _was_ in Arkham," Bruce corrected, now smirking. "He was moved to Blackgate two days ago because he didn't… get along with the other patients at Arkham. There's so much everyone tries to cover up for good measure, Olivia. Mayor Garcia doesn't want the citizens to know that we can't keep the Joker in Arkham because the Riddler broke out the day before the Joker was moved."

"The _who?_" I asked, perplexed.

"The Riddler. You might remember the puzzle winner for the Gotham County High puzzle, Edward Nashton?"

"Yeah, it was on the second page of the newspaper last year. I would have never gotten it. But what about him?"

"He's turned into the Riddler to challenge Batman. Batman caught him once before, but he broke out. Nobody knows where he is or where's he's planning to go," Bruce said as he sipped at his drink. I, on the other hand, had not touched my drink and I did not plan on it. I still had to take in all of this.

"How come I've never heard of the Riddler?"

"The presses covered that up too. Maybe it was because he never committed any murders, but he tried. Batman took care of him pretty quickly… Did you know that Gambol is dead?" Bruce asked while he played with the cherry in his drink.

"The mobster?"

"Yeah, that one. The Joker killed him, tricking him with bounty hunters. Two of his men were found dead with him." I did not know any of this, and I made a vow to myself that I would never let Wayne Entertainment get a hold of this. If Bruce did not come in and tell us to, there was probably a good reason for it.

"And why didn't we get this either?" I asked, taking my first sip of my drink. Bruce watched me intently, my own eyes gazing up at his.

"He's part of a mob, that's why. He's a _leader_ of a mob. It would damage the city's reputation if everyone realized that there were still mobs and that they joined up just to take down one man that threatened them."

"And by 'one man,' I'm assuming you mean Batman?" I asked, chomping down on my cherry.

"Of course I am. Everybody wants Batman, even the police. But I'm going to tell you something right now that you can't repeat to anyone." I leaned in, biting my lower lip. Did he really trust me enough to tell me something as important that only I could know about? "Batman didn't kill all those people. Harvey Dent did. But if anyone found that out, all those people he had locked up would be back out on the streets again and we'd need to find another reason to get them back behind bars. If anybody knew it would ultimately be the downfall of Gotham."

I coughed on my cherry. I had inhaled it when I gasped and it was lodged in my throat. Bruce leaned over the table and hit the square of my back. I coughed up the cherry before swallowing it again. Bruce smiled at me.

"How do you know all of this?" I asked finally, feeling like I was still missing something after all of this.

"I have my sources, remember? I happen to be good friends with Commissioner Gordon," Bruce said, but I still wasn't convinced. I let it go, all the same.

"So we've been publishing all that crap in the paper? I didn't even know. If I would have known I wouldn't have put it in there… I wouldn't have put all this in there, because I'd probably be the one in jail. But still… if you had told me this sooner maybe the paper could be more credible or something," I said, rubbing my temples. I felt horribly stupid under the gaze of Bruce. He just kept smiling.

"Nobody knows all of this but you, me, and Jim Gordon. Alfred might know if he's been listening to my phone calls. It wouldn't have made a difference. The paper's laying down the 'facts' and making the people believe they're safe. None of them know the dangers in Gotham, and it's better that way," Bruce explained. I suddenly felt less guarded and I knew why everyone couldn't know what I did. The walls that always felt like they had guarded me were suddenly knocked down.

"And is Batman still out there, fighting crime and whatnot?" I asked hopefully.

"From what I've heard, yes. He's after the Riddler, I think," Bruce replied, draining the rest of the piña colada. I was hardly halfway through mine.

"So… the Riddler poses no threat against Gotham?"

"For the time being, he doesn't. I can promise you that as soon as he does, I'll tell you and let you get it out into the world," Bruce said and laughed. "You'll be my little birdie."

"Just what I'd always want to be known as," I said, giving him a sad smile. "I don't think I'll be publishing this any time soon. And let's just hope Batman can deal with the Riddler in due time before it gets really bad."

"Tell that to him, not me," Bruce said.

"I'll get right on that as soon as I find out how to. He hasn't come to the Bat-Signal for the past week. What makes you think he'll come to Gotham's newspaper editor?" I asked.

"You're not trying to arrest him though. And I came to you, didn't I?" Bruce answered. My lips tugged into a smile.

"But you two are hardly alike, are you? And you didn't come to me as much as I came to you."

"Not really, seeing as I gave the option for this… meeting? More like a gossip circle if you ask me, though I'm not really into that. So we'll call it a date, hm?" Bruce suggested, making me blush. I slurped at my drink before I answered.

"Well, for a first date, it went pretty darn wrong. I mean, your suit's going to have to be dry-cleaned and so will my conscience. I'll pay the bill if you're willing to take my conscience with you. I don't need it overnight, but I'll definitely need it before my sister calls again," I said, trying my sense of humor again.

"If you think about how much worse it could have been, it's not all that bad," Bruce said as he stood and then turned to help me out of the booth. "I remember a horrible first date where Alfred had to keep checking in on me. He scared the girl off and she never came over for dinner again… Speaking of dinner, are you free tomorrow night?"

"I am," I said, grinning.

"Then would you mind joining me for dinner at seven at Wayne Manor?"

"Not at all," was my short reply before I got in my car.


	4. Organized Crimes

**A/N: **The two names introduced in this chapter are real Batman characters, but in the comics. I've obviously tweaked their past, because they were never involved with politics... sort of. Google them, but only if you want to ruin the story. 8D

* * *

The trip home was spent going through all the missed calls on my phone, which I had left in the car despite telling my sister I would turn it off and leave it at home. I had several missed calls, almost all of them from my sister. I had two calls from my mother and another two from coworkers. The other eight were from my sister. I decided that what she had to say was probably pointless, but I would see what she had to say so I could make fun of her. Sibling rivalry is always the best.

Her phone only rang once before she picked it up. "Hello?" she asked.

"What do you freakin' want?" I snapped as I turned into my driveway. I sat there with my car turned on. The poor thing probably could not take anymore and was on its homestretch.

"Were you really with Bruce Wayne… or were you yanking my chain?" she asked very slowly as if speaking to a child. I was older than her but she treated me like the kid in the family. I hated her to no end for it.

"I was really with Bruce Wayne, but I was also yanking your chain."

"What did you talk about?"

"Stuff I would never and could never tell you. But I have permission to publish one thing when the time comes around. And now is not the time, before you ask. And I won't tell you, even off my deathbed. But what I _can _tell you is that I'm seeing him again tomorrow night," I said, just to rub it in. No, Bruce was not just to be better than my sister. He intrigued me; I was drawn to him. I could not really explain it, but it was _not_ love. After all, it was Bruce Wayne, Gotham's Playboy.

"What sort of things?"

"We talked about things… things going on in Gotham that he knows about because of 'sources'. I'll let you know that Gotham isn't what we think it is," I said, trying not to breech my "confidentiality" I had with Bruce.

"Really?" she asked quietly.

"Really," I answered. "Oh, one more thing: I have another day off tomorrow, and it's my last for six days. So don't call me, 'kay? Anything you need from me will be on my computer. And if I find out you've changed anything, I'll have your head. Okay, bye." And I hung up on my sister for a second time. The best part about hanging up on her is that she will never call back angry. She will call your parents and complain.

I was watching a heartbreaking soap opera when my phone vibrated on the coffee table. I checked the Caller ID and saw my mom was calling; no surprise there. I picked it up anyway, just to see what my sister had told her. "What, Mom? Johnny was just about to go into surgery. He could die, you know! I can't miss it; if I do, I'll be forced to watch rerun marathons until they show it again."

"Is is true?"

"Is _what _true, Mum?" I asked as I lazily stretched and settled myself back on the still uncomfortable couch.

"You were with Bruce Wayne today? And Marissa said that you're seeing him again tomorrow night. She also said that you said Gotham is going downhill," my mom rambled. I just wanted to get back to my soaps, not my reality soap.

"Yes, Mom, I really was with him and, yeah, Gotham City's a wreck… so much more than you could possibly imagine. I can't tell you, Bruce said not to tell anyone until the time was right."

"And how will you know when the time's right, Olivia? Your sister says you can't even hand back a script in time, let alone write an article in time! Do you even know what you're going to get yourself into if you write about how bad Gotham's getting? And you're going to be in even more trouble with Bruce Wayne. I've seen him on the news, Olivia, and—"

"Okay, seriously, calm down. And I'll just know. Bruce will tell me, I'm sure. And you'll eventually know too. Don't get your panties in a bunch. And Bruce isn't all that bad, honest. Did you know he saved me from choking? And he didn't even threaten our waiter when he spilled our drinks all over his suit. And he said it was a date. But you probably don't believe me, do you?" I asked, feeling my jaw tighten dangerously.

"Of course I do, Olivia. I just don't think you'll know when the time is right."

"Mom, you don't even know what you're saying anymore! You could be sent to Arkham for that, Mom. And trust me, it's not all fun and games in there. They send all those hot-shot bad guys there that Batman gets."

"Olivia…"

"No, Mom, listen to me. Gotham's hell right now, more than you know. Bruce said nobody can know. Once everything gets out, we're screwed," I said darkly, wanting nothing more than to go back to my soap opera.

"And I need Arkham? Olivia, you're talking nonsense. Is that what Bruce is trying to do to you? He's making you sound crazy. I love you, Olivia, but maybe meeting with Bruce Wayne isn't a very good idea," my mother said. She was the typical "do not date bad boys" mother that was in my soap. My life really could be a soap opera.

"Okay, Mom, we're not getting anywhere with this. And I'm seeing Bruce tomorrow, like it or not. So, bye."

"Bye, Olivia," Mom sighed. Her line clicked, which told me it was safe to do the same. And before I knew it, I was fast asleep on the couch after a marathon of soap operas.

I spent my morning watching more soaps. I had eventually cooked up a list containing items on "why not to call your sister." My top reason would be she would rat you out to your mom, who would try to ruin your upbeat, wonderful life. The things a woman in her mid-twenties could do…

After eating lunch, I turned on the news just to catch myself up on life. There was a murder of an unidentified woman who was dumped outside of Gotham Bay. There was no evidence left for the cops either, which left them baffled. "No matter how organized Gotham criminals are, they always leave something behind." That was one thing I was constantly writing underneath the legal section of the newspaper. It was mostly for kicks, but it had grown on me since.

They had also found a new district attorney and district attorney assistant: Jervis Tetch and Garfield Lynns. They were both strange-looking men; Jervis was short and a little pudgy, Garfield was very lanky. I scribbled down their names on a piece of paper and told myself to get an article going on them if there was not one already.

I turned off the TV and got ready for another "meeting" with Bruce.


	5. Wordless Battles

I put a lot more work into today's appearance that took longer than ever. It took longer than getting ready for the freshman prom, and that was horrible. I vaguely remembered my mother pulling, pinning, and curling my hair. There was also the problem of getting my dress zipped up after all my hair was in the way. But this was better in a sense that it was as painful, but it took a lot longer.

When I finished, it was about four in the afternoon and I had two and a half hours to kill. I decided that it would be fun to cruise about in my car. Maybe I would stop by Wayne Entertainment to see how things were doing, but my sister was working and I really had no desire to see her. It would give her a reason to blow up on me and say I was making sure she wasn't messing up or something. So maybe a quick trip to Gotham Bay was in my trip. Maybe I could get some pictures of the police tape that was sure to surround the murder scene.

So I hopped in my basically broken-down car and drove to the outskirts of Gotham. I was not too far from Gotham Bay because houses towards the middle of Gotham were more expensive. Everyone knew that I could not afford that. I got a small loan from my parents before moving out and the small chunk of money I had saved up from working at Wayne Enterprises.

When I arrived, there was police tape like I had hoped for. There was also a few detectives with all their equipment and whatnot. They hardly looked up at me before turning back to their work. I took out my camera and leaned against my car. The soft lapping of the waves against the rocks was very soothing under normal circumstances, but this was a murder scene.

"Hey, Renee, got any clues?" I asked a woman on the other side of the tape. She smiled sadly up at me before shaking her head. Detective Renee Montoya had been working for Gotham City Police Department in the Major Crimes Unit for as long as I had known her, though she has considered quitting since the death of Harvey Dent.

"She had a clean death. We don't even know where she was murdered," Renee said, standing up and brushing off her pant legs.

"Well, that sucks. Has her family been notified?"

"Yes, and they didn't take it very well, from what I heard; the mom attacked one of our officers, they said. Then they demanded we find who did this to her."

"So how do you know it was a murder? I mean, I trust everybody's judgment, but if it was so clean how do you know it was a murder?"

Renee laughed softly. "She was a single child and an heiress. I'm pretty sure she didn't shoot herself. And there was no sign of a gun around here. No blood traces were found, and she can't dump her own body. We're having all empty warehouses in Gotham searched and we sent a thing to GCN. It basically asks that if anyone heard a gunshot at around two in the morning to call the department and report it. We're getting our hopes up though. If this guy knows what he's doing, he's going to make sure he was in a secluded area where no one could hear any of it," she said, ducking under the police tape to sit on my car next to me.

"I wish I had my note pad," I grumbled, taking a few shots of the scene. "Pictures will do. Has anyone else been out here for Wayne Entertainment?"

"Your sister was. She needed an interview with an officer, so she's the one to talk to for the article. She didn't have a camera," Renee said, making me roll my eyes.

"Of course she'd be out here. And tomorrow's she's going to yell at me to look over the article and ten other things."

"She also said you're meeting with Bruce Wayne tonight," Renee said and wiggled her eyebrows. Renee was a closeted lesbian, so she was not all that into hotshots like Bruce. But she knew what he was like and that he was a billionaire Playboy who had girls fawning over him left-to-right.

"Yeah, I am," I said sheepishly, flipping my newly curled hair.

"And that would explain why you're all fancy and in a dress?" Renee asked, eying my dress. "You're the only person I know that would wear _that_ to a Gotham Bay murder spot."

"Anyway," I said, changing the topic, "no leads at all?"

"Well, we have had a recent breakout at Arkham and…" Renee trailed off, digging the toe of her shoes into the ground.

"The Riddler?" I asked. She looked up at me with a little surprise. I smiled before tugging at my dress. "Bruce told me. He has his sources. That's what our meeting was about: we wanted to talk about Gotham. He told me a lot, and that's the only thing I think I'm authorized to talk about. But he said the only people who know everything he told me is Jim Gordon."

Renee nodded. "That's our only lead, but it's not really a lead. We're not even sure where he's at and what he's doing. He's never committed a murder before, so we don't know his style. That's one thing that's bad about Batman: he's fast, but too fast. And Harvey Dent…"

I coughed uncomfortably. Bruce was not lying when he said we were two of the three people that knew about Batman.

I watched the waves for about a minute before Renee nudged me. Her radio was going off in the car. We walked to the car, trying to hear the radio. Renee picked it up and started talking into it. I started watching the waves again until I heard my sister's name. I looked at Renee, who was frowning. I gave her a questioning look and she shrugged. I left to get some more pictures, trusting Renee to catch me up when she was done.

In less than five minutes, Renee walked over to me and shook her head. "What?" I asked.

"She's dead."

"Who is, Renee?" I stood up and furrowed my brows. I felt my stomach churn and a knot form in my throat.

"Your sister… she's dead. I'm really sorry, Olivia," Renee said, looking away from my face as it crumpled. I fought back my sobs, trying to stay dignified in front of a uniform. She bit her lips while I watched the waves and battled wordlessly with my tears still in my eyes.

"I have to go," I managed, running to my car. I figured it was safe there, so I broke into sobs there. Renee surveyed my car, but never approached. I wondered whether my parents knew, who I should go to for comfort, what I was going to do. As much as I had denied it, I loved my sister. And now she was dead. I had no one to go to.


	6. Bouncing Questions

My first thought after my breakdown was to delete Marissa as a contact on my cell phone. If I did not do it, it would cause unneeded scenes. But if I did, it would feel like I would lose a part of her. I shoved the cell phone into my glove box, deciding it was better off there. I did not need to answer any calls. My mom had my dad and the Wayne Entertainment employees had each other. I could run to Bruce, but I barely knew him.

I then realized with a pang that the last thing I ever said to Marissa was, "And if I find out you've changed anything, I'll have your head. Okay, bye." I would check to see if she changed anything on my computer tomorrow.

Renee tapped on my window, making me jump and scream. I caught my breath before rolling down the window. I looked pitifully up at her before wiping furiously at my eyes and tearstained cheeks. "You don't plan on going anywhere, do you? You can't honestly go anywhere like that," Renee said, making me shrug.

"I can go to a murder scene in a dress, I can go anywhere looking like this," I said; I was ready to roll up the window. Renee smiled sadly and walked away. I figured Bruce wouldn't mind if I was an hour early, so I left for Wayne Manor. Whoever lived in Gotham and didn't know where Wayne Manor was at was a completely moron. Although questioned by Harvey Dent, Wayne Manor was in city limits, and, much like my four-room house, but almost outside of Gotham. The only difference – other than the fact we were on opposite sides of Gotham, his the more expensive side – was that Wayne Manor was twenty times bigger than my unnamed house.

When I got there, I was in tears again and staring hopelessly at the rebuilt mansion. I sat in my car for the longest time, just waiting for time to end. When it did not, I decided it was time to get out. When I knocked on the door, there were some shouts before the door was opened by who I assumed was Alfred.

"Ms. Sharpe?" he asked. I nodded, wiping my eyes again. He let me in without any questions, which I appreciated. Bruce was standing on the stairs only ten feet from the door. I smiled weakly at him, and he did the same.

"You're early," he reminded, and I shrugged.

"I had nowhere else to go," I said. He gestured for me to go upstairs with him and I dutifully followed. He took my hand and tucked it in the crook of his elbow. Under normal circumstances, I would have blushed. This was not normal circumstances though. My sister had just died and I had no idea who to tell.

"You've been crying," Bruce said, pointing out the obvious. He forced a smile. "Makeup never lies." I wiped at my cheeks, which probably had mascara and eyeliner tracks. "What's wrong? I don't usually ask, but you look pretty pitiful."

"You know that murder at Gotham Bay?" I asked. Bruce nodded. "Renee Montoya was there. We were talking and then her radio went off. I walked away and let her finish, but she came over and told me my sister…" I choked and trailed off, fighting the sobs that welled up inside of me. Bruce looked around for help, obviously not knowing what to do now. I wiped away the tears in my eyes again before talking to Bruce. "Did you cry when Rachel died?"

Bruce thought for the longest time. We had reached the second story of Wayne Manor by the time he answered. "I considered it, but I don't think I ever did," he said as he led me into the dining room. Alfred was only a few steps behind us and I had not even noticed him as we shared a somewhat intimate moment. I glanced back at him and he guiltily looked away as if to say "don't mind me."

Bruce led me to a cherry wood chair covered in scarlet velvet. All around the seven-foot long table were duplicates of the obviously expensive seat. Bruce pulled it away from the table and let me to sit before pushing it into the table. He took the seat next to me as Alfred left for the kitchen. Bruce, after one of the many silences I have had with him, turned his gaze to me. I was staring blankly at the flawlessly white plate in front of me. "The Riddler killed her," he said. I furrowed my brows and gave him a questioning look.

"Who did he kill?"

"The girl found at Gotham Bay; he killed her. And, if I'm right, he killed your sister," Bruce said. I do not know why, but this had not really surprised me as it should have. Somehow I knew that he would tell me this. "I don't know what he likes to go after in a victim, but I know that he leaves riddles behind. If you don't answer them in time, he'll kill his victim. The worst part is that he'll make you watch the whole thing."

"How do you know?" I asked suddenly, my eyes ablaze. Somebody had seen my sister die. It was disgusting that someone had seen something so personal. I would rather have seen it than some stranger.

"I still have sources," Bruce said and smirked.

"Did your source watch them die?"

"I don't know if your sister was killed by the Riddler at all, Olivia. But my source only deals with these things at night. He's never out during the day because he has a life," Bruce said. Alfred came out of the kitchen with plates full of food. My stomach rumbled angrily at me, making Bruce laugh. I almost moaned when three plates stacked high with delicious-smelling food was set in front me.

As soon as I had my food on my plate, I had a question bounce around furiously in my head. I dropped my fork on the plate and looked up at Bruce. "Who's your source, Bruce?" I demanded. He looked up with surprise. His eyes were wide and his eyebrows were forced up. He swallowed the food in his mouth with a loud gulp and flinched as it went down roughly.

"I don't see why that would matter," he answered, making me sigh.

"It does, Bruce," I said calmly, looking at him through my dark eyelashes. I was never the one to force answers out of somebody, especially billionaires I might fancy, but I really wanted this.

Bruce glanced around the room before nodding. "Batman." I inhaled. Bruce Wayne knew Batman, and Batman knew the man that could have possibly murdered my sister.

"Can I meet him?" I asked. I saw Bruce's face contort and he got ready to protest, but I stopped him. "It's important. I need to meet him, Bruce. It might be dangerous, I know; you don't have to tell me. My mom took care of that years ago. Please…"

Bruce was quiet for the longest time. "Fine," he mumbled.


	7. Comforting Words

Throughout the dinner, Bruce kept trying to talk me out of seeing Batman. I was a woman and I could not be persuaded. He gave me several reasons why not to meet him, ranging from "you'll become a target if you're seen" to "he could hurt you." I was touched that Bruce would care if Batman would hurt me, but I was not _that _touched.

When we had finished, Bruce looked at me with the most sincere of stares I've ever received. "I'll talk to him, but I can't make any promises. If he hurts you…" Bruce trailed off and looked away, back at his empty plate.

I finished what was on my plate, much later than Bruce had. "I'll give you a tour of this beastly mansion… if you want," Bruce suggested, standing up and pulling out my chair again. I stood and smiled at Bruce.

"I have nothing better to do," I said and shrugged. Bruce took my hand and tugged me back down the stairs to the first floor. The white walls were decked out in paintings of the highest quality. Lamps hung in between each piece, lighting up the whole hallway. The hallway was at least fifteen feet long. As we walked down the hall, my hand pressed tightly against Bruce's, I examined each picture. They were all similar, featuring soft, pastel colors and dark blotches here and there.

"Alfred picked those out," Bruce said, pointing to the paintings.

Bruce and I walked into a lavishly furnished sitting room. The two black leather chairs surrounded a navy blue leather sofa, which faced a large TV set. There were green plants and painting all around the room, under large windows with dark red curtains. The carpet was tan and soft under my toes. A fire crackled welcomingly in its hearth. I smelled a hint of freesia, to top the whole room off. My jaw was agape as I took all of this in. All Bruce did was laugh at my expression.

"You spoil yourself," I scolded. He shrugged and walked to the fire. I followed like a lost puppy, watching the orange flames dance in the fireplace. I felt a comfortable change in temperature from chilly to warm as we got closer to the fire. Underneath our feet was a crimson rug, very similar in color to the velvet chairs.

"I still have money left over after building and decoration this whole house," Bruce said, slapping himself down on a chair. I sat on the sofa.

"Mansion," I corrected. "This place is a monster. I'll get lost if you ever leave me alone. And if there are any trapdoors, you would never see me again."

"I'm sure there's probably a few. Just don't take anything from any bookshelves and don't move any statues. You'll be fine. And I'm sure if you sent smoke signals someone would eventually find you," Bruce said. I snorted.

"Yeah, I'll be found a month later. Or I won't be found at all after I burn down the whole place… again. Speaking of burning down the place, how'd that happen?" Bruce smiled and nodded.

"I figured this would come up some time. But I'll tell you that was the truth: I got drunk and burned down Wayne Manor… I was almost crushed under the roof, but Alfred found me. One of the disadvantages of alcohol…" Bruce said thoughtfully. I watched the fire and found that it was a lot more dangerous than it looked.

"So the Riddler is a lot more dangerous now than her was twenty-four hours ago?" I asked. I started reclining in the couch, feeling a little more comfortable that way.

"I would say so. He's already committed one murder and another murder in question. He's obviously gotten guns and knives back to be doing this. And, from what I've heard, he's gotten more riddles for whoever's trying to save the unfortunate," Bruce said, yawning and stretching.

"Our tour's over already?" I pouted at Bruce and he stood up. He stretched one more time and helped me stand up. I yawned and rubbed at my eyes. Bruce glanced up at the clock I never noticed that was above the entrance. It was a little after eight.

"Do you want to stay the night? It's getting late and Gotham's not safe anymore and all… And our tour isn't finished, Miss Sharpe," Bruce said, lifting an eyebrow at me. I thought about it, staring thoughtfully at the space behind Bruce's shoulder. If I stayed, I would not have to go home to an empty house and start thinking about Marissa. On the other hand, if I did stay I would have to get ready in Bruce Wayne's house to be at work by nine in the morning. "You can take a paid leave from work. Your sister did just die and all…"

Ooh, what a tempting offer. "Okay, I'll stay," I said, cocking my head to one side and gave him a crooked smile. "But I'll probably be gone by eight tomorrow so I can change. But I'll be back, if you want. My house is probably going to be a lot more lonely even thought nothing's changed…"

"I know what you mean… sort of," Bruce said, trying to offer me some sort of comforting words. He put my hand in his elbow again and took me back down the hallway and up the stairs. We went to the second floor where Alfred's room and bathroom was. There was a study with several bookcases, which I made sure not to touch. Our tour was postponed on the third floor when we found a bat in the southeast corner. I was not painfully afraid, but I was scared it would bite me or something of the sort. But Bruce said that it was harmless and they usually found their way up in the same spot in the house, but he never found out how.

"Even after rebuilding the whole manor, you still get bats?" I said aghast. How was that even possible? Bruce just laughed and nodded.

When we got to the fourth floor, I was taken to another, less extravagant, sitting room. We lounged in the room again, talking about pointless things that I could hardly remember. The fire was lit in there too, and I just watched it while Bruce talked about his past and sipped on some wine we had been served earlier. He talked about his parents and was very detailed when he came to the part where they were murdered. After that, he talked about how Alfred took up raising him. He went on about Alfred for ten minutes. I had switched my position on the couch and I was now lying across the whole thing.

"Wait… you were gone seven years after the hearing of Joe Chill… where'd you go?" I asked drowsily, my head lolling off the side of the couch.

"Places," Bruce answered, standing up. I groaned when he tried to help me up. He led me to the guest room, pointing out all the things that I might need. I was ready to collapse on the bed when Bruce headed towards the door.

"'Night," he said, kissing me softly on the lips.


	8. Riddle me This

I would like to say I could remember Bruce's lips perfect. Their softness, the slight curve, the thickness… But all I could remember was that he had kissed me under the doorway of his guest room and that I wanted to go to sleep. I had been slightly loopy from my glasses of wine and I could hardly remember anything before the kiss and hardly anything of the kiss. That could have been the best or worst kiss of my life and I would have never remembered it. If we got married and he tried to talk about our first kiss, all I could honestly say was that I was drunk and in his guest room.

Contrary to what I had told Bruce, I was not even up and out of bed until eight thirty. I did not have a hangover, I had not drank all that much. I was just lying there, watching the sunlight peek through the blinds and curtains on the window. I had been thinking for the longest time about yesterday: about my sister, about the dinner, about the "tour", about the kiss… And it was then that I remembered Bruce was letting me meet the dark knight himself.

I sat up, wide-eyed. I flew out of the bed and pulled on my dress. I flung open the door, not even thinking about my rat's nest hair or the makeup that was sure to be all over my face. I found Alfred on the staircase of the second floor to the ground floor. He called after me as I flew out the front door and raced down the courtyard to my car. My car was like a candy cane on Halloween. It was the biggest piece of trash on this whole lot and it stood out like a sore thumb.

Before I started up the car, I checked my cell phone. It had still been in my glove box where I left it. When I turned it on, I had missed calls from both my parents, a ton of coworkers, Renee, and one from my sister's cell phone. My heart skipped a beat when I saw it. I had voice mails from only my parents. I would never know who had used my sister's cell phone unless they called back.

I stared at my cell phone screen for the longest time. I went over the numbers, the name, the time… I tried to piece it together. They had called at eight eleven, which could have been only minutes before or after I had kissed Bruce. I am not sure what was scarier: the fact that my dead sister had called me, or the fact that she called around the time I had completely forgotten her. Was somebody trying to mess with me?

There was a tap on my window, much like Renee's tap yesterday. I rolled down the window to Bruce. "You're leaving already?" he asked. I shoved my phone back in the glove box before I answered, which made Bruce frown.

"I'll be back. I told you yesterday. Sorry, but I feel gross. I'm a human of the female variety, and they tend to bathe more than the male variety," I explained. I attempted to push away the memory of the screen. It seemed to be emblazoned over my whole brain. I was not the only one who noticed this. Bruce was still frowning at me.

"Er… is something wrong?" he asked. I was pretty sure he meant for it too sound less awkward, but it was not. It was the epitome of uncomfortable, awkward, and weird moments.

"No, there's nothing wrong. Can I go now?" I snapped, taking Bruce aback. He did not question me this time, but stepped back from the car and grimaced as I sped off of his land. I could possibly tell him later, but he would think I was crazy. In all technicalities, I was crazy. I was either going there or already gone, but I had proof to back me up. I would take in my cell phone and show Bruce. Maybe his sources would know something that I did not.

I arrived at my house to find that it was, as I had thought, emptier than ever. It was still the same cluttered house with four rooms. But the house was so different than it had been twenty-four hours ago. I preferred Bruce's huge, spacious mansion to this. However "home, sweet home" my house seemed, it just was not the same. I could not place it, but it would never be the same. Marissa had been here, but would never be here again.

* * *

Once I was out of the shower, I felt so much better. I would tell Bruce about my phone and that was the reason I refused to talk to him. I would ask about Batman again, ask to see him tonight. I would ask Bruce where he was for those seven years… again. "Places" was not the straight kind of answer that I craved. I was a reporter, after all.

I slipped on some clothes and was ready to head out the door when the home phone rang. I checked the Caller ID, which said in big, bold letters "Marissa Sharpe." I threw the phone at the couch and ran out to my car. I know, I wanted to know who it was, but I just felt something telling me not to answer when I was alone.

I needed to see Bruce. How did this person know I was at home in the first place? All these questions about stalkers zipped around in my head. But maybe this was want the person wanted: for me to go clinically insane.

I arrived at Wayne Manor in no time. Bruce was out of the house before I got my cell phone out of the glove box. He walked casually up to the car as I got out. With a flick of his head, he eyed me up. "Are you going to talk to me now?" he asked. I ran a hand through my hair and nodded. I slapped my phone into his hand.

"I got calls from my sister after she was dead," I said. He looked at the phone as if it had been cursed. Well, it was in a sort.

Bruce started going through my missed calls and saw my sister's name. He checked the time on every call to make sure it was not a mess-up on my phone. "Her phone should've been taken in as evidence," Bruce said. "I don't see how her phone could be calling you in the first place. Answer it the next time… _it _calls."

I agreed and Bruce pulled me back inside and into the sitting room. I thought about bringing up last night's kiss, but even when I thought about it I got tongue-tied. So I brought up Batman instead:

"So can I see Batman… tonight?"

Bruce was painfully quiet. He took in the flames of the still-burning fire. He was still other than when his chest would rise and fall from his breathing. Not that I would examine his chest or anything… Yes, I would.

"I suppose." I drew a loud breath when I realized what this meant. I could ask him anything I wanted. There was no guarantee he would answer, Bruce told me. He still warned me of how dangerous it was if I was seen with me. But part of me had been seeking an adrenalin rush and this would be the exact sort of thing I needed.

Over the next hour, I showered Bruce with thanks: all ranging from telling him to hugs. I refused to kiss him after last night because I was nervous. Any girl with Bruce Wayne would have been anxious to kiss him, so I did not feel too bad.

"Why do you want to see Batman so badly?" Bruce asked while we were in the sitting room. I had just drained a glass of wine because of a bet with Bruce. Needless to say, I won the bet and fifty dollars. We were two adults that needed to let loose a little. Why not do it by drinking some bitter-tasting wine?

"For my sister… I think he'll help me. And I might have a few other questions that I haven't thought about yet," I said truthfully. Bruce accepted my answer, having seen me drink three rather large glasses of wine. You do not back-sass a drunk. I have seen it done before, and I would not know why I would be any different from any "raging alcoholic."

"Did you know that the only alcohol I've ever had were piña coladas and this weird alcohol mix with punch at a high school party?" I asked Bruce. He sat in on of the velvet chairs like a throne: his back was erect, his fingers curled around the arms of the chair, and he had the straightest face I had ever laid eyes on.

His face cracked into a smile. "No, I didn't. Tell me more," he demanded. I was not going to refuse a demand from a king-like figure.

"Well… this is the biggest house I've ever been in and probably ever will be in." I was trying to avoid embarrassing myself by saying something… _undesirable _like "I plan on one day having a wedding on a beach" or "my best friend in grade school was my sock monkey." Because chances are that I might never have a wedding or… well, the sock monkey was self-explanatory.

"Go on," Bruce said, starting to grin.

"When I was little I would always ask to drive by Wayne Towers just because my parents told me that important things went on in there. I wanted to feel important because God knows I wasn't as soon as Marissa came around… But when we were both teenagers, attention started to even out. Or maybe it was just me thinking like any other seven-year-old with a younger sibling."

Bruce looked a little more interested in this, but anything he was going to say was cut off by the ringing of a phone. Bruce looked at the side table next to his chair. He picked it up, said his greetings, and then glanced at me. "Yes, she's here," he said hesitantly, making me sit up. Bruce handed me his phone. I covered up the speaker and gave him a questioning glance.

"Who is it?" I whispered. He shrugged.

"Hello?" I said quietly into the phone.

"Hello, Miss Sharpe. I know who you are, but do you know who I am?" an unfamiliar voice asked. The voice was obviously of the "male variety." It was scratchy and slight lower pitched than an average female's pitch.

"No," I answered.

"What a pity, wouldn't you say?"

"Probably not."

"Well, riddle me this, Olivia: if I were to murder a high in demand family, youngest to oldest, how many days would it take me?"

"It depends on how many people are in the family," I murmured, almost choking on my words. I knew who it was, and I _did _know the answer to the question. There were only four people in my family: my sister, me, and my parents. It would take the Riddler four days to pick us all off. Bruce watched me intently. He could probably hear my heart beating against my ribcage, hear how short my breaths were, and see the sweat beads forming on my forehead.

"If I were traveling by train from the opposite side of Gotham from your house to Wayne Manor, but the train was stopped due to a car crash… how long would it take me to get to Wayne Manor?" the Riddler asked. I flung the phone at Bruce, horrified.


	9. Near Death Experiences

Bruce hung up the phone and rubbed his temples. "Who was it?" he asked, though it was obvious. I shook my head, not wanting to hear myself say the dreadful words: _"The Riddler and he's after me."_ Bruce seemed to understand, because he did not pursue the matter. He stood and gestured for me to do the same. I pulled myself up and headed for the door after Bruce.

"I still want to see Batman," I mumbled behind him. He turned on me and I ran into him. He steadied me whilst giving me a "look."

"Are you crazy? Then you're even more of a target. Not only will the Riddler be after you, but when the presses find out, so while the police department. Then you could be brought to court for assisting or conspiracy! And, chances are, they're not going to have any mercy for someone that associated with the person who they think killed the district attorney. You'll be arrested, you'll go to jail… if you're lucky," Bruce said, making his point by waving his hands and shooting glares at me. "_Are you crazy?_"

"Yes, Bruce, I am," I said. "But so is Batman, I think. Or that's how I see it, at least. He could've just blamed all of it on the Joker."

"But Gordon saw it."

"And you think he wouldn't have backed that up? All the more reason to have him locked up for life. Besides, after faking his death, anybody would think he's a good liar. He could have pulled it off… _they_ could have pulled it off."

"But what would you do if you did have to go to court to defend yourself?" Bruce asked, turning back around and heading up the stairs.

"I would tell them that I was doing it for my sister. I needed things to be answered. And if they asked what things, I'd plead the fifth," I joked as I followed him up the stairs. He had not laughed like I hoped he would. "I could always blackmail the new DA and tell him he's going to be on the front page for shoplifting or something."

"Oh, that's really smart, Olivia: blackmail the DA," Bruce said.

"That was a joke. Seriously though, I'd tell the truth. I'm going to meet the Batman in three hours and nothing you can say will change my mind."

"What if I said it had the possibility to cost you your life?" Bruce asked. He reached the top of the stairs, but turned to go up to the third floor. I had to jog to keep up with him, he was walking so fast.

"I would tell you that you're lying because you just said that I would go to court. And if I did, but I was found guilty, I'd be asked to be put in a room by myself; preferably a padded room so I could jump at the walls and not hurt myself," I answered.

"The Riddler could find you," Bruce said.

"In that case, I'm sure Batman could fight him off."

"And what if he couldn't? What if the Riddler brought a gun and got around him?" When we got to the third floor, Bruce started calling out for Alfred. I decided I would not answer that question because, frankly, I did not know how to. Bruce seemed to forget that he even asked the question in the first place and did not ask again.

Alfred came out of a ballroom on the third floor with a feather duster, a rag, and cleaning spray in his hands. He shut the door behind him before turning to Bruce. "Yes, Master Bruce?" he asked, still holding all the cleaning products.

"Get Miss Sharpe out of here. In three hours, take her to the lighthouse. She has to meet someone there," Bruce ordered, leaving Alfred dumbfounded.

"May I ask why?"

"She's in danger here. But Olivia, leave you cell phone here. I think that's how he tracked you down in the first place." I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and examined it. I turned it over in my hands several times to look for some sort of tracking device, but there was none. When I was done, I handed to Bruce.

"Ready, Miss Sharpe?" Alfred asked. I nodded and started for the staircase. I stopped and looked over my shoulder at Bruce, who was staring after me.

"I'll be safe… I promise," I said before heading down the staircase after Alfred. I caught up with him at the bottom of the staircase and together we headed down the last flight of stairs and for the door. I waved at Bruce, who had followed us. He smiled sadly before heading for the sitting room. I heard the back door close and took that as my signal to leave. Alfred held open the door and closed it when we were both outside.

"So where's Bruce's safest spot?" I asked Alfred, fishing for my keys in my pockets.

"Anywhere but here, Miss," Alfred said. I could not help but snort. I gave Alfred my keys when I found them. "You couldn't ask for a more horrible day to be in danger." The sky was dark and cloudy, very different from the sun that woke me up this morning. When we were safe and in the shelter of my car, fat raindrops started dropping onto my windshield.

"I believe Master Bruce would like us to go somewhere unexpected," Alfred said as he tried to start up my car. He looked at me with surprise. "You're working at Wayne Entertainment and you can't afford a decent car? Excuse my manners, Miss Sharpe, but this is a piece of junk!"

"I'm aware," I said, trying not to laugh. "But I think it's easier to use a car until you can't use it anymore than to go and buy a new car every other year or something. Besides, I'm saving up for a nicer car. This thing's gonna go any day now."

Alfred nodded, looking slightly impressed. When he got the car to finally start up, rain was pouring down in the fattest drops I had ever seen. He turned on the windshield wipers and they screeched across my window, making him flinch. "I hope you're going to buy a _very _nice new car," he said as he pulled out of the property.

"I will once I make it out of this mess." Alfred chuckled and shook his head.

"Miss Sharpe, life is a mess. You might as well buy your car now," he said. I smiled halfheartedly. "Make of it what you will, but this is an experience you get used to after a while."

"What experience?"

"Near-death ones."

* * *

**A/N: **Next chapter's more interesting. Swear on it. This one was boring, I know. Sue me.


End file.
